I try not to think about how my dad used to be.  Its like I'm already mourning him.  I just try to take it day by day.  Sometimes I catch him saying something or doing something and I think, there he is...there's my dad.  When in all actuality the moments of him being "my dad" are getting fewer and fewer.  It still amazes me how even though we have been living with this for what seems like an eternity, there are still times when I can't grasp what is going on.  My dad is having hallucinations now.  Which is weird because the doctors say he is not sick enough for them to do anything yet.  How sick is sick enough anyway?  When you go into liver failure you have just moments to live, is that sick enough?  They all say his test results are not getting any worse, but why does he seem worse?  We went to his endocrinologist this week and she asked him how often he was checking his blood sugar.  He told her at least two times a day.  She checked his meter and told him he was not even checking it once a day.  She also said that on the days his blood sugar was in the 500's that he was not even taking his insulin.  My dad just looked at her and didn't say anything, like she was speaking another language.  All this time we have been preparing his medications, talking to his doctors, taking him to his doctors, fixing his food, doing everything for him..we never thought about his insulin.  He has been a diabetic for over twenty years and has always given himself his shots and checked his blood sugar.  The doctor has decided to put in a continuous glucose monitor to keep an eye on his insulin.  She also told us it is time for us to start taking care of his insulin.  Why does that feel like the final straw to me?  Maybe because that is the only thing he does for himself.  Why doesn't he seem more upset about it?  Just two weeks ago, he threw a very big temper tantrum because we will not let him drive anymore.  He says he has been dreaming about his funeral, but I never know if what is coming out of his mouth is him or the toxins building up in his body.  I sometimes sit and cry because I have a hard time picturing a time when my dad wasn't sick.  I am trying to hold on to every last memory of him I can and make every single second another memory, until we run out of time.